


Louder Than Sirens

by campingwiththecharmings



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 11:30:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3379898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/campingwiththecharmings/pseuds/campingwiththecharmings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(CS AU) Emma Swan is an FBI agent and Killian Jones is the con-man at the top of her Most Wanted list.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Louder Than Sirens

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This was supposed to be an answer to a prompt someone sent me but then it spiraled off into something else and I had to make it it’s own thing (lol oops). I’m still going to write that prompt at some point but it’s apparently going to take a while (apologies to the person that sent it in). xD 
> 
> Rating Note: There's a slight bit of M-ness toward the end (barely, but I'm mentioning just in case that kind of thing bothers someone).
> 
> (Un-beta’ed)

Persons: Killian Jones (Alias)  
Heritage/Nationality: European (English, possibly Irish)  
Physical Description: Caucasian; early thirties (assumed); dark brown hair, usually cut short; blue eyes; scar on right cheek  
Main Charges: aggravated assault, extortion, fraud, grand theft, racketeering  
Address: Unknown  
Last Seen: Boston, MA (Suffolk County), 2009

  
The FBI had been trying to track down Jones for years, but the con-man extraordinaire was practically a ghost. No one had ever gotten a clear photograph of the guy and those that witnessed his actions first hand tended to either go missing (whether by their own hand or someone else’s, no one was sure) or were too afraid to talk. They’d gotten little bits here and there over the years, the most solid of which was an incomplete finger print forensics had lifted from a crime scene.

He was almost impossible to predict, popping up here and there every now and then to scam some high-profile idiot, and then he’d disappear for months, like he was never even there.

Agent Emma Swan had been a simple analyst when she’d first heard his name (or, rather, the name he _chosen_ to be known by) but she’d risen through the ranks quickly. His name had been following her for her entire stint at the Bureau, so much so that his case began to fascinate her. Trying to figure him out soon became her favorite past-time, and before she knew it she was her department’s resident Killian Jones expert.

She’d been in her current position for a few years now and every time Jones would pop up and screw someone else over, she’d pore over his case files and will her brain into finding _some_ kind of pattern so they could finally catch the bastard.

Alas, she had yet to be successful, but she blamed that on the fact that her superiors had yet to let her actually take the case on herself (you know, actually go out into the field and _do_ something).

Everything changed the night he reportedly resurfaced at a night club in South Boston.

* * *

Six years.

_Six. Years._

Six years in hiding and he blew his own cover by getting drunk and punching a guy. Something about it didn’t smell right to Emma; it was sloppy and Jones was anything _but_ that (there was a reason no one had ever been able to catch him). This simple fact made her come to the conclusion that he’d blown his cover on purpose, but why? Was he taunting them? Was he making sure they didn’t forget that he was still at large? What could he _possibly_ gain by showing himself the way he had?

She didn’t know and she wasn’t positive she could figure it out, at least not with the information currently at her disposal; she needed _more_.

She’d gone to her director the moment she’d heard about Jones, praying that _this time_ the case would be hers. Her wish was granted, though perhaps not in the way she’d hoped. Instead of being assigned as the lead agent on the case, she ended up simply being placed on the team. The lead position had gone to one David Nolan. Emma liked David; he was tough, handled himself and his co-workers well, and had a reputation for being _quite_ thorough (there was a reason his case-solve rate was the best in the department).

That said, she was still rather bummed; she’d been _so sure_ that this one was going to be hers.

Their director was putting a ton of pressure on their team to catch Jones this time around (tenth time’s the charm, perhaps?), hence the assignment of Agent Nolan. She’d agreed to help any way that she could and she knew that David was just trying to give her what she wanted by putting her in the field, but asking her to go undercover in a night club (let alone one that Jones had already been spotted at, making it _highly_ unlikely he’d return)? Emma wasn’t so sure that this wasn’t just a ploy to get her out of everyone’s hair.

She sighed and leaned against the wall, sipping a sparkling water as her eyes scanned the crowded dance floor for any sign of their quarry.

“ _How’s it look in there, Emma?_ ” David questioned, his voice pulling her from her thoughts.

“Same as three hours ago: nothing,” she murmured, grimacing as she fiddled with her earpiece; she hated wearing these things.

David chuckled lightly in response. “ _Hang in there. Our intel says there’s at least fifty-fifty chance of him showing up again tonight, so hopefully you won’t be bored for much longer_.”

“If you say so,” she said, draining the remains of her beverage, “I’m gonna do another sweep, I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

“ _Ten-four_.”

Emma pushed off the wall and made her way back to the bar across the room, casually scanning the dancers as she went. She motioned to the bartender when she reached the counter, smiling in thanks when he handed her another sparkling water (no drinking on the job, unfortunately for her). She turned away from the counter, refill in hand, and slowly walked the length of the room.

She stopped in the corner near the main entrance and sipped from her glass, her trained gaze flitting carefully around the room. A slight commotion outside of the VIP area drew her attention, her eyes rolling when she realized it was just a couple of drunkards fighting over a woman in a sparkling dress and sky-high heels leaning against the wall near them (and Emma was pleased to note that the woman appeared greatly unamused by their display of ridiculousness).

Lowering her drink from her lips, she turned away from the scene and made to continue her quest when three men dressed in expensive-looking suits walked through the door. They stopped and formed a line the moment they entered, all clearly surveying their surroundings. The two on the outsides turned toward the one in the middle (who seemed to be in charge) and nodded. The man in charge nodded back, scanned the room one last time, and turned and walked back out the door. The other two stayed where they’d been left, clasping their hands behind their backs as they coolly continued surveying the club.

Emma took a few steps to the side and casually propped herself up against the nearest wall as she waited for the man in charge to return.

“Something’s going on, Dave. Stand by,” she whispered, taking another sip from her glass.

“ _You need back up?_ ” she heard him ask, concern lacing his tone.

Emma shook her head before remembering he couldn’t see her. “Not yet.”

“ _Roger that_.”

The man in charge returned a few moments later, ushering in another trio of men. Two of the three were relatively tall (maybe six feet, by her estimation) with short, brown hair. One of them was dressed to the nines in a black Dolce and Gabbana, three-piece suit and fiddling with his obnoxiously patterned tie; the other was in tight, dark-wash jeans and a grey button-up, fitted leather jacket on his shoulders. The third man (who was talking animatedly with the man in the leather jacket) was on the shorter side, wearing a red beanie and a long brown jacket.

Emma covertly surveyed the trio, careful to not draw their attention, nor the attention of the guards they’d obviously seen fit to have accompany them; the brunette in the four-thousand dollar suit _could’ve_ been Jones, but his eyes weren’t the right color and he was way too absorbed in whatever was on his phone to be a wanted man. The one in the red beanie was clearly not their guy as he was neither dashing nor handsome. The one in the leather jacket, though, could definitely be him. His back was to her so she couldn’t see his eyes, nor did she know how handsome (or not) he might be, but the way he was carrying himself screamed confidence.

Her eyes followed him as he led the guards and his comrades to the back of the club to the roped-off VIP section, mentally begging him to turn around. She huffed in frustration when he didn’t, sequestering himself and his group securely behind the velvet ropes and gauzy, red curtains.

“Think our guy just walked in. Need to get a better look to confirm,” she murmured, leaning against one of the tables nearby and keeping her gaze trained on the VIP door.

“ _Gotcha._ ”

* * *

An hour, three more sparkling waters, and one trip to the ladies room later found Emma directly across from the VIP entrance. She’d been trying (and failing) to look through the curtains as they were at least _moderately_ transparent, but was no closer to deciding whether or not the man in leather had been Jones. She was about to give up and play dumb with the guard at the door when the man himself pushed through the curtains, a cell phone poised at his ear and an annoyed snarl on his face.

Emma fingered the straw in her untouched glass and observed him through her lashes; he was _definitely_ attractive, contorted features or no, with his blue eyes, full lips, well-styled hair, and closely-trimmed scruff. After muttering to David that she was pursuing a lead, she covertly removed her earpiece, adjusted the tight-fitting red dress she was wearing, and began to slowly saunter his way. She pulled her cell phone out half way and pretended to occupy herself with it, careful to not let him see that she had her eye on him.

He ended his call when she was a few feet away, yelling at whoever it was to ‘just get it done’ as he ran a hand through his thick locks and pulled a flask from his inside jacket pocket. He turned toward the corner he was near, hastily typing something on his phone, and Emma increased her pace slightly. She managed to time it so that she was walking by him as he turned back around, causing her to smack directly into his shoulder and teeter on her four-inch heels.

Emma flailed slightly as she feigned losing her balance and tripping over herself. She mentally patted herself on the back when she felt his firm grip on her arms in his effort to steady her.

“My apologies, lass, are you alright?” he asked distractedly, not giving her his full attention.

Knowing this was her one chance to get close to him, to obtain proof that he _was_ , in fact, Killian Jones, Emma plastered a flustered smile on her face and amped up the charm.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine, thanks,” she assured, trying to get him to meet her eyes, “My ankle is kind of sore but it’s probably nothing.”

He nodded absently as he released her, his gaze traveling from where he’d been grasping her arms up to her face. Emma bit back a triumphant smirk when the look in his eyes shifted from distracted to most definitely _interested_.

“It is, is it?” he began contemplatively, his tongue poking out of his mouth to wet his lips as he finally met her gaze. “Perhaps we should have a look at it, just to be sure.”

She giggled breathily as she held his eyes, smiling coyly as she pushed her hair behind her ears. “Perhaps we should.”

The smirk he shot her might’ve had her spine turning to jelly were he anywhere close to being her type (which he so totally was _not_ , she reminded herself).

Emma worried her bottom lip, purposefully drawing his gaze to her mouth. “Think you could give me a hand?” she asked lowly.

He smiled as he returned his eyes to hers and held his right arm out for her to take. “It’d be my pleasure.”

She returned his smile with one of her own and linked her arm with is, reminding herself to limp slightly as he led her to the roped off area he’d come from. She didn’t look at the security guard as they entered, instead taking in the sights around her as quickly as possible, mentally noting the locations of any other guards in the room and what the quickest escape route might be should she need to make use of it.

When she realized he was leading her to the darkest, most secluded corner in the area, she bit back a grin; this was almost too easy, men were _so_ predictable.

“Why don’t you have a seat here while I go and scrounge up some ice for that ankle of yours,” he instructed, grasping her hand as she gingerly lowered herself onto the couch.

Emma shifted in her seat once he released her hand, pretending not to notice the way her dress had ridden up or the way he greedily took in the sight of the newly exposed skin of her thighs. When she’d made herself comfortable, she sent him another coy smile and fluttered her eyelashes.

He winked at her as he sauntered away and she had to force herself not to roll her eyes; the guy was handsome, it was true, as was he charming, but the fact that he was clearly expecting her to melt into a puddle of goo at his feet after just a few smiles and a wink was completely laughable.

She watched him as he walked away, allowing herself a moment to appreciate the way his pants showcased his fabulous backside (he may not be her type, but she wasn’t _blind_ ).

He returned moments later with a towel and a glass of ice cubes and knelt down in front of her on the floor. His fingers grazed her calf as he reached down to cradle her ‘injured’ foot, sending involuntary shivers up her spine. Slowly, he removed her shoe and sat it on the floor beside him. He grasped the heel of her foot lightly, gently moving her ankle in a circular motion and observing her through his lashes.

“How does that feel, love?” he asked quietly, a lock of his artfully tousled hair falling over his blue eyes.

Emma swallowed thickly and unconsciously wet her lips. “’S good,” she croaked, clearing her throat and tearing her gaze from his, “I’m sure it’ll be fine if I just rest for a moment.”

His touch lingered for a moment longer, his fingertips gently caressing the skin of her ankle. “As you wish,” he whispered, smiling to himself as he slipped her foot back into her shoe and carefully set it back on the floor. “Mind if I keep you company until you’re fully rested?”

She mentally shook herself and forced her eyes back to his, reminding herself why she was even there in the first place. “Not at all,” she replied, smiling at him once more.

He flashed another smile at her and pulled out the flask she’d seen him drinking from earlier from his jacket pocket. After taking a swig, he sat beside her on the couch and turned to offer her one as well (an offer she politely declined).

They talked for at least an hour and Emma actually got so caught up at one point that she almost forgot he was a wanted criminal. He still hadn’t told her his name, and she was hesitant to ask, afraid the question might give her away (or maybe she was just enjoying this whole encounter more than she wanted to admit). She got her opportunity, however, when _he_ asked her for _hers_.

“We’ve been talking all this time and I think I’ve asked you everything except what I should call you,” he teased, the arm around her shoulders holding her so close his breath was ghosting over the skin of her neck and giving her goose bumps.

 Emma breathed a laugh and bit her lip, her bare shoulder brushing the fabric of the shirt covering his chest as she leaned into him. “I kind of liked the sound of ‘love,’ to be honest,” she breathed, smiling softly and stealing an obvious glance at his lips.

He chuckled and worried his bottom lip, casually toying with her hair. “Hmm,” he hummed, leaning closer to her as he whispered, “You can call me Killian, if you like.”

Her heart thudded in her chest and Emma denied that it was due to anything other than her confirmed suspicions regarding his identity (it _definitely_ had nothing to do with how close he was or the hungry look he was giving her, nor did it have anything to do with how _blue_ his eyes were this close or how soft his lips looked).

“Killian,” she breathed absently, unconsciously fisting a hand in his shirt as he slowly closed the distance between them.

The sound of someone clearing their throat nearby brought him to a halt. He muttered a curse and pulled back slightly, turning toward the cougher and scoffing when his gaze fell on the short man in the red beanie she’d seen him come in with.

“Forgive me, love, I’ll be back in a moment,” he said, sighing as he disentangled himself from her and rose from the couch.

Emma nodded, an embarrassed flush on her cheeks. She focused on righting her breathing and ran a hand through her hair; what the hell had she thought she was doing?She was an FBI agent, this man was the criminal she was trying to put away for life, and she had been about to let him kiss her (and not only that, she’d  _wanted_  him to).

She took a cursory glance around her before pulling out her phone and shooting a quick text off to David confirming she’d made contact with a man using the name ‘Killian’ and matching his description. When he texted her back immediately saying he was going to send in back up and pull her out of there, she pressed the ‘call’ button to talk him down.

“No, I don’t have any solid evidence yet. Just give me another half hour,” she whispered, ever vigilant in case Killian returned.

“ _Fine, but that’s it_ ,” he sighed wearily, “ _Be careful._ ”

“Got it,” she said, hanging up and stuffing her phone back into her purse.

Emma mentally went over everything they’d talked about during the last hour searching for even the smallest clue as to where she could obtain the evidence they needed. She muttered a curse when she saw him and the short man making their way back over, schooling her features into a calm mask. Killian sent his comrade away and ambled back over, pulling his flask out of his jacket again and taking another hearty swig.

It was then that she remembered; _fingerprints_. The Bureau had an incomplete set on file for Jones and if she could lift that flask from him, they might be able to get a complete print and run it against the one on file.

Her mission suddenly more clear, she allowed her smile to widen as their eyes met once more (completely ignoring the way his gaze softened when it met hers).

“Apologies,” he said wearily, reclaiming his position next to her and sliding his arm around her shoulders once more.

“Everything okay?” she asked coolly, twirling a lock of her hair between her fingers as she leaned into him.

“Just a bit of business that needed handling, nothing serious,” he claimed, moving his hand in a waving manner and moving his gaze to her lips. “Now, _love_ , where were we?”

Emma smiled as he leaned in again, this time merely bumping their noses together as their breaths mingled.

It took her a moment to realize he was waiting for _her_ to take that final step. She couldn’t deny she wanted this, wanted _him_. It was far from the professional thing to do (David would _never_ approve) but he was _so_ close and the scent of him was intoxicating and so damn _distracting_. After what seemed like an eternity, she moved forward to capture his lips, reasoning that she could easily lift the flask from him by distracting him this way.

Heat blossomed in her chest as their lips met and slowly slid against each other. Determined to enjoy this at least to some degree (because how often do you get to make out with an _actual_ bad boy?), she slipped her hands up his chest and into his hair, tugging the soft, thick locks between her fingers, memorizing the feel of it against her skin. She felt him groan against her lips when she pulled a little harder on the strands at the nape of his neck, her breath stuttering in her chest as he pressed himself against her, kissed her harder.

It was her turn to groan when one of his hands buried itself in her long, blonde hair, using its hold to gently angle her head this way and that. His tongue traced the seam of her lips as his other hand fell to her thigh, his fingers toying with the hem of her dress. Emma opened her mouth and met his tongue with her own, sighing quietly as they glided over each other. If she’d thought the smell of him was intoxicating, the taste of him was a thousand times worse. He tasted like a mixture of rum, clove cigarettes, and something else decidedly _Killian_ that she couldn’t quite get enough of.

His hand was caressing her thigh and sliding slowly beneath the hem of her dress and Emma realized how out of control this was going to get if she didn’t keep her head. She wrenched her lips from his and dragged them over his chin and down his throat, his beard tickling her lips as she made her way down. She felt his moan as she lightly bit at the hollow of his throat, gently pushing him against the back of the couch as she attempted gain the upper hand.

Her dress rode up further when she straddled hips, moaning when the hand in her hair angled her head back so he could pepper a line of kisses down the column of her throat. Her hands found their way back into his hair as he pulled her body against his before dragging his mouth back to hers. Killian’s hands came to rest on her hips, moaning against her lips when she lightly rutted against him.

Deciding she was, perhaps, enjoying this process a little _too_ much (and conceding that he was definitely sufficiently distracted), Emma slipped a hand from his hair, down his neck and over his chest, and plunged it beneath his jacket. She spent a few seconds lightly tracing the taut muscles of his stomach, relishing the way they quivered beneath her fingertips, before she redirected his attention elsewhere by fisting her unoccupied hand in his hair and biting lightly at his lips.

He growled and pushed her hips flush against his in response, smirking when she gasped in surprise against his mouth. Biting his bottom lip a little harder in retaliation, Emma regained her wits and felt beneath his jacket for the flask, ignoring the heat pooling in her gut as he caressed that sensitive stretch of skin on the backs of her thighs. She thrust her tongue between his lips when her fingers closed around the top of the flask, moaning slightly when his hands skated up her thighs to cup her backside through her dress.

She mumbled his name breathlessly against his lips as she slowly inched the flask from his pocket, yelping slightly when the hands on her ass chose that moment to squeeze. A chuckle rumbled through his chest at her reaction and Emma used the distraction to pull the flask out the rest of the way. She covertly slipped it into her waiting purse, having left it open prior to the beginning of their tryst. Hand now free, she returned it to his hair, slowly ceasing her movements against his lips until she pulled away and rested her forehead against his. She laughed breathlessly when he chased her mouth with his own, stopping him with a hand on his chest and a slight shake of her head.

“I’m sorry I—I need to stop,” she panted, pulling further away from him when the urge to reclaim his lips became too strong.

Pouting playfully, he let his head fall to rest against the back of the couch, his eyes roving her face. “You are one _hell_ of a woman, love.”

She blushed and sat back against his thighs, biting her lip and pulling a hand through her mussed hair. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He smirked lazily at her, his hands skimming her sides and sending shivers up her spine. “You’ve got to leave now, don’t you?” he asked matter-of-factly, a melancholy look in his eyes.

Emma nodded and watched him for a moment, the sadness in his eyes oddly causing her chest to ache. Her gaze fell to his lips once more and, knowing it would be the last time, she leaned in and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to his lips.

“I’ll be back,” she whispered thickly, pulling herself from his embrace and rising from the couch.

They smiled at each other once she’d righted herself and picked up her purse. “Don’t stay away too long, now,” he teased, sighing and clasping his hands behind his head.

She nodded wordlessly and moved to turn away. “Goodbye, Killian.”

He nodded in response as she turned fully away, willing herself not to look back.

* * *

Confirming Killian’s identity took less time than Emma had expected. She’d presented the flask to David upon her exit from the club, flushing when he’d asked how she’d gotten it before mumbling ‘I don’t wanna talk about it.’

Turned out the surveillance van they’d been using had an old school fingerprinting kit, which meant that they were able to do all of the work they needed to without leaving the club parking lot.

At three in the morning, uniforms were being called in and briefed and by three-fifteen, the infamous Killian Jones was being led from the club in handcuffs. A part of Emma had wanted to hide in the van, feeling as though she’d somehow betrayed him (which was ridiculous because they didn’t even really _know_ one another). But she was an adult and this was her _job_ and she would face the consequences of her actions like the professional she was.

Killian’s gaze found her almost immediately after exiting the club and, much to her surprise, he looked anything but upset. In fact, he actually almost appeared _pleased._ Emma stood to the side as David read him his rights, his eyes locked on her, a calm smile on his lips. She shot him a questioning look as David was winding down and as the uniforms led him past her to put him in their patrol car, he smirked and whispered “I was hoping it’d be you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Review (pretty please)?


End file.
